Any Means
by MChristopher
Summary: A little forewarning regarding the sorting leads to an entirely different fate for young Harry Potter. See what happens when Mr. Potter is given just a bit more background information, and more importantly, a lot more blackmail material.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: The following is a work of fanfiction. I make no claims towards ownership of any kind.

As a side note, I'm really dissatisfied with the Hogwarts house system. It seems like Gryffindor is rather too transparently "the best house". Humbug to that. I'd like to say that this fic has the houses representing what they say to represent, but unfortunately that'd take too much effort. Instead, I present to you...

Any Means

Chapter 1: Oh you may not think me pretty...

The great hall was silent in anticipation, waiting as the two minutes Harry Potter sat under the hat slowly stretched to three. Three minutes was a remarkably long time for a sorting; while most outgoing seventh years would claim their sorting to be one of the longest moments of their life (only just behind their first history of magic class and their NEWTs), in truth the average sorting took less than thirty seconds... the moment simply became exaggerated in memory. In many ways, the house a student was sorted into defined their future... it was both judgment and sentence at once. Were you cunning or intelligent, loyal or brave? Most professions hired preferentially along house lines, so that it was easier for a Gryffindor to become an Auror, or a Ravenclaw to work in the department of mysteries; students were simply expected to develop along house stereotypes. Why hire a Slytherin as bodyguard when a Hufflepuff will be much more loyal?

Unfortunately for the rather bored students, there was nothing exaggerated about the five minutes Harry Potter sat under the sorting hat. Unfortunately for the young boy himself, Harry had no knowledge of the wizarding world's prejudices. If he'd known what the decision meant... if, perhaps, some kind and biased soul had told him, then he'd have spent time arguing with the sorting hat about where to be placed. Unfortunately for Dumbledore's plans, Hagrid had been too ill to guide Harry around Diagon Alley. The completely unbiased professor Flitwick had been the only available alternative; thus, Harry's current conversation...

"So Gryffindor really tried to eat you?" Harry asked.

"Well, yes," said the sorting hat, who at this point had gotten quite distracted from actually sorting. "but it was Helga who started the bet. I'd honestly rather not talk about it."

"Alright," replied Harry. "Then... what can you tell me about the headmaster?"

"Well," began the hat, which hardly ever got the chance to gossip, "did you know..."

Allow us to backtrack here, for a minute, to the key point that separates this particular story from the original path that fate would have taken. No, not the fact that Vernon Dursley decided to hide from the strange letters on a particularly cold, rainy, and distant island, nor the fact that Hagrid resultantly fell ill. In fact, even Flitwick's presence as a guide would not have been enough to change fate's path, if it weren't for one short conversation...

It is quite odd, Harry thought, that both the wizards he had thus far met were of such unusual size. First Hagrid, who made even uncle Vernon appear quite diminutive, and now Flitwick, who was smaller than Harry (who had been an exceptionally small child) was at eight years old. Perhaps it was something to do with magic? But then, he thought, it would probably be impolite to ask.

Professor Flitwick had spent the majority of their time shopping lecturing about Hogwarts in general and the charms course in particular. Now that they were comfortably seated in Florean Fortescue's ice cream parlor (the professor in a chair which was brought to their table especially for him), it appeared that Flitwick had set this time aside specifically for questions.

"Well, go on," said the half-goblin. "I'm certain you're just bursting with questions!"

"Well, are you... I mean to say," began Harry, thinking again about the man's size before quickly searching for a safer topic. Though he was dying with curiosity, and Flitwick had been very obliging about answering questions earlier, it was better not to know than to possibly anger the short professor.

Harry had learned at a very young age not to ask questions, and suddenly being told to do so was a little disconcerting. He latched onto a question about Hogwarts (a presumably safe topic) that had come up earlier.

"How do you sort us into houses? Do we pick ourselves, or...?"

"Oh, no-no, I can't tell you that!" Flitwick smiled good-naturedly. "It's a Hogwarts tradition that students not know the method behind the sorting. In fact, almost anything you might be told about it is likely to be untrue- I myself was under the misapprehension that new students were required to attempt four basic spells to be admitted, and that whichever spell they cast best determined their house."

"Oh," said Harry, at a bit of a loss. He didn't particularly like the idea of taking a test, especially one which people would lie to him about. Still, perhaps there was something he could learn to prepare himself. "Well... then... can you tell me something you wish you'd known before being sorted? Without giving away the method, I mean?"

Professor Flitwick pondered the question for a second, before replying, "What a delightful idea. Yes, I do think I can tell you a few things without spoiling anything." In fact, he thought, maybe I can tell the truth while still having a bit of fun. It's only fair that Harry should have his own mistaken sorting ideas to share, in the future.

"Alright," began the professor. "Let me share with you a secret. Most students don't realize, but they only get one chance at the sorting; afterwards, the magic simply doesn't work for them; it's something of a safety precaution insisted upon by my own house's founder."

"A safety precaution? Is it dangerous? Or... what if I fail?", asked Harry, suddenly even more worried.

"Oh, I promised I'd not spoil anything, remember? But don't worry," replied a serene Flitwick, "I'm fairly certain you won't fail. Why, I can't remember the last time that happened!"

This statement did very little to reassure Harry. "Okay... then... what else can you tell me?", he asked.

Flitwick considered things which he wished he'd known. It was something of a personal peeve of his that, even as an adult, he couldn't speak again to the sorting hat. While it was true that this precaution kept the secrets of Hogwarts' students safe from prying minds, it also meant that an absolutely perfect historical witness was forever out of reach.

"Well... there is one thing, I think, that I wish I'd known during my sorting." Flitwick said. "I wish I'd known what an opportunity it was to learn. I was so worried about being sorted that I didn't even think about the other things I might discover instead."

Harry had been rather confused by that, but had primarily forgotten the conversation in the intervening days between then and September 1st. It had only been with the hat upon his head that he'd remembered, and thus his sorting was taking a very unusual turn.

"But about Professor Snape... I thought Slytherin only accepted purebloods?" asked Harry, who had during the past seven minutes moved on from history to gossip, from gossip to sociology, then back to gossip again.

"Yes," replied the hat, who was suddenly reminded of the purpose for which he had been stitched. "the restriction was of course removed after the founders parted ways, though the stigma upon the house remains."

"Ah, so-"

"Mr Potter, as much as I have enjoyed actually holding a conversation for the first time in 700 years, I'm afraid I do have a job to do. Where would you like to be sorted?"

"W-what?", said Harry, who was rather startled by the question. "I thought that was _your _job!"

"Actually, my job is to see that the students are sorted, not to decide where they go.", explained the hat to a still-confused Harry. "The students do that themselves; I sometimes have to explain what the houses stand for, but the students themselves always pick a particular house. It's just usually subconscious."

"Well, Ravenclaw sounds rather nice," said Harry, "but I'm not certain I'm very smart. And I'm tired enough of hard work that I don't think I'd like to be in Hufflepuff. I suppose it'll have to be Gryffindor."

"An interesting choice. Gryffindor will help you to be good, yes, but I noticed you didn't mention Slytherin. What would you say if I told you that Slytherin could help you to become, not good, but truly great?"

"Draco Malfoy is in Slytherin," replied Harry. "and I don't think I like him. He reminds me of my cousin."

"That is almost, but not quite, the worst reason to decide against a house that I've ever heard. Almost as bad as that Lockheart boy and his 'but yellow dulls my complexion and the whiteness of my teeth' excuse. You'd give up greatness to stay away from him?"

"I don't care about being great. I just want to make some friends." said Harry.

"Well if that's the case, might I remind you that I mentioned Slytherin would help you discover your real friends?"

"I rather thought you were being sarcastic there."

"I was not!" said the hat, affronted. "Those sorted into Slytherin rather quickly discover who their friends are and who is merely pretending to be their friend. That's something those in other houses often learn far to late. Your own parents, for example, were betrayed by someone they thought was a friend- that fact is common knowledge to those raised in wizarding families."

"My parents were Gryffindors, though? Will... would it matter to them where I'm sorted?" Harry asked.

"I only receive snapshots, Harry," replied the hat, gently. "but even at eleven it wouldn't have mattered to your mum. Your father was raised to be a Gryffindor, and would have been quite appalled to go anywhere else... but he almost went to Slytherin, just as his father had almost gone to Ravenclaw. I think, as an adult, he would have been understanding."

"Alright, then I guess Slytherin is okay, too. Just... do that subconscious desire thing to decide."

"Oh, I will, Mr. Potter. I've known where you desired to go from the start, though I would have placed you elsewhere if you asked. Still, it has been nice meeting you. I'm sorry you don't know the spell Godric used to talk with me during the year..."

"Could you teach it to me?" Harry inquired.

"I'm afraid not, as the spell itself is a lost thing... there's only one room in the castle that could help you with that." hinted the hat. "Well then, time to say our goodbyes. It might be difficult to start, but I think you will find yourself well placed within—SLYTHERIN!", shouted the sorting hat.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: The following is a work of fanfiction. I make no claims towards ownership of any kind.

This chapter is a little shorter than the prior one, as it mostly just sets the scene and introduces a few of the characters. I promise to hit the interesting bits soon, though. Also, regarding the subject of Harry's sexuality? He's a horribly neglected eleven year old child that's spent most of his life without the influence of friends, television, or society to provide templates for relationships of any sort. He's simply not equipped for that sort of thing at the moment, physically or emotionally.

Any Means

Chapter 2: Don't judge on what you see...

The great hall was not silent throughout Harry Potter's sorting. Yes, it had been silent when young Mr. Potter first placed the hat upon his head, and continued to be silent for the first minute and a half. By three minutes, however, the mounting tension had risen enough that people were beginning to whisper, first mutedly, and then with more insistence. Those whispering went a little something like this...

"Why is it taking so long?", asked one student, a Ravenclaw third year.

"Perhaps the hat is broken..." replied a recently Hufflepuff first year.

"Why doesn't it just say Gryffindor and get it over with?" asked Ron Weasley, who had sat with Mr. Potter on the train. It was not quite by chance that Ron and Harry never got around to talking about houses; the youngest Weasley boy had merely assumed that, as Harry was the Boy-Who-Lived, he would surely go to the best house in Hogwarts. One didn't just defeat the Dark Lord only to wind up in Slytherin. (The hat's final decision would indeed come as a shock to the redhead.)

As would be expected, the whisperings at Slytherin table were a little bit darker. There was interest, certainly, but it was couched in disparaging terms. Like the majority of the school, the students in Slytherin had already come to their own decisions about Mr. Potter's house, and it was most certainly not going to be theirs.

"What do you think is wrong with him?" asked Theodore Nott.

"Maybe that scar on his head drained away all his magic," gloated Draco Malfoy, recalling their two prior conversations with some degree of resentment.

At this point, variations upon that particular sentiment were being echoed at every table- even the one where the professors sat, thanks to a rather annoyed Severus Snape. Quite simply, a normal student did not sit under the hat for so long. The only thing preventing an anxious looking Minerva McGonagall from interrupting the sorting was that the hat, while silent, was quite obviously moving around in mental conversation. The only professor who appeared not the least concerned was Flitwick, whose face held an odd mixture of fond pride and exasperation.

It was with an odd sense of relief, then, that the great hall fell silent after the hat's exclamation of "SLYTHERIN!". Then the house called out actually registered upon the shocked populace, and the talking resumed, much louder than before.

At the same time, other voices around the hall were repeating "Slytherin?" in shock. It wasn't that Mr. Potter's sorting had been a completely foregone conclusion, especially considering the time it had taken... it was merely that for once the entire hall was paying attention. At this point, even a cry of "GRYFFINDOR!" would have received a shocked response from a few students particularly fond of their own theories behind the delay.

"We don't want him!" came one particularly loud Slytherin cry. It was greeted with a few hums of agreement, but for the most part ignored (although the Weasley twins rejoinder was not alone in suggesting that Harry would find welcome elsewhere).

A mortified Harry sent one last betrayed look towards the sorting hat, which now hung limply from Professor McGonagall's hands. Having focused entirely upon his internal conversation, Mr. Potter was ill prepared to handle a suddenly boisterous hall. So too, it seemed, was McGonagall, as she had tried twice now to quiet the students. It took a few tries of the the headmaster standing and clearing his throat before the hall was back to some semblance of order.

"Why, this is a record indeed!" said headmaster Dumbledore. "Nine minutes? The last sorting to take nearly as long was that of my good friend Nicholas Flamel, though his only lasted seven. Something for _Hogwarts, a History_, I suppose. Now, settle down, settle down. Let us continue with the sorting, so that we may get to the best part of the evening- the feast!"

Minerva turned to Harry, "Run along, Mr. Potter."

The evening from that point forwards passed in a blur to the young boy, who followed meekly behind as the prefects led the students to the dungeons and listened with only half an ear as the entrance itself was explained. The trip through the common room was similarly blurred- it was only when he found himself in the first year Slytherin dormitory that Harry started paying attention again.

"That bed over there is yours," pointed Draco Malfoy, a smug look upon his face. The bed indicated was in the far corner, the furthest from the door and thus the longest walk in the mornings. "I bet you wish you'd shook my hand earlier, eh Potter?"

Harry was nearly too drained to reply, but he'd dealt with bullies before; if he didn't respond they'd probably just keep trying. "I'm tired, Malfoy. Can we do this tomorrow?"

The trick to dealing with this sort of situation was finding the best response to avoid trouble. Unfortunately, that wasn't it. "Think you're too good for us, do you Potter?", was Malfoy's reply. "Too good for Slytherin?"

"No," Harry replied. "I'm just tired. I'd hoped to avoid you by being sorted elsewhere, but the Hat convinced me this is where I belong."

"You spent nine minutes arguing against Slytherin?" piped up a previously quiet Blaise Zabini. "That's pretty harsh, Potter." The other Slytherin boys expressions had changed from unabashed interest to angry glares at this announcement.

"No, no, I spent nine minutes talking to the hat. The Slytherin thing only took a few seconds." replied Harry, searching for a way to diffuse the situation. Then he recalled one of the hat's interesting pieces of history. "Like, did you know that Slytherin has a hidden chamber somewhere?"

"The hat told you that old myth?" said Zabini, whose gaze was now slightly more curious than harsh.

"It's not a myth, though the hat doesn't know where it is." Harry said.

"That's a load of nonsense," interjected Malfoy. "Slytherins have been looking for the chamber for years- even my father tried as a student. If he couldn't find it, it doesn't exist." Crabbe and Goyle, Malfoy's two bookends, grunted in agreement.

"Think what you like then," said Harry. "but that's what the sorting hat told me."

"All that time under the hat and you were just talking about the Slytherin's secret chamber?" asked an incredulous Theodore Nott.

"Well, not all of it. I also asked about the headmaster, and my parents, among other things. Professor Flitwick was the one who gave me the idea." Harry replied. "He didn't want to spoil the surprise, but he did tell me to use the opportunity to learn something."

"How very Ravenclaw," replied a droll Zabini. "Couldn't you have waited until some other time for your little heart to heart?"

"Professor Flitwick said the sorting magic only works once per person." Harry answered.

"I guess that means we're stuck with you." Nott said. The sentiment seemed to ease the tension a little, enough that the boys wandered off towards their own beds.

It was with no small relief that Harry drew the curtains around his own bed... but lying in bed he found sleep itself slow in coming.

Hogwarts had at first seemed like the perfect escape from the Dursleys, but now that he had been sorted it seemed that he would still have to face the same kind of trouble. Still, it was nice to have a decent bed for once... and that Ron Weasley boy had been rather nice. Maybe tomorrow would be better? The past eleven years had proved that he could live with unfriendly housemates. He'd just have to be careful not to make things worse.

Worst case, he could always take advantage of the things that hat told him about the castle and its occupants. The fact about the Chamber of Secrets had helped here, for example... it would have been nice to have the hat available for advice now, of course. Talking to an adult (or a hat with an adult perspective) who both desired to and had the means to help him was rather nice for a change. Maybe he could find some time to talk with Professor Flitwick tomorrow? If he wasn't disappointed that Harry wasn't a Ravenclaw, that is.

Harry finally dozed off to sleep, images of talking hats and tiny professors in his dreams. Overall he was rather pleased with the sorting, even if it had caused a bit of a commotion. Unfortunately, having the longest sorting in history did not come without disadvantages... as Harry would spend the next few weeks learning.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: The following is a work of fanfiction. I make no claims towards ownership of any kind.

Full thanks to my lovely reviewers. Your encouragement is awesome, but feel free to criticize too! I'm writing to get better at writing, after all :)

Any Means

Chapter 3: First day

Harry awoke to the sound of something slithering among his bedsheets, and found himself eye to eye with a four foot long black snake. He lay startled as a voice sounded from the room's doorway.

"Don't move, Potter." came the flat voice of the prefect from last night. "I don't know how she got out, but that's my snake, Myndie."

Harry lay absolutely still, not even daring to breath, as both boy and snake stared at each other. Neither made a sound. Dimly, Harry could hear someone sniggering in the background; it sounded rather like Draco Malfoy.

The prefect walked slowly forward until he was standing next to the bed, barely within Harry's field of vision. "I'm afraid she's rather venomous," He said. Harry thought there was something disturbingly self-satisfied about the way he said it.

It was with some relief that Harry watched as the prefect, who had introduced himself last night as Derrick, reached down and gathered up the snake. It curled happily around his arm before winding its way up to the prefect's shoulders.

"She does tend to wander a bit," said Derrick, his tone not even slightly approaching apologetic. "It's a shame your bedcurtains couldn't keep her out."

Harry just lay in bed, shuddering slightly, as the rest of the Slytherin first years filed out behind the prefect.

"You better get dressed quick, Potter," Malfoy called over his shoulder, his voice syrupy with false concern. "It would be a shame if you missed breakfast."

By the time he had gotten dressed and showered the prefect and Harry's yearmates were long gone. It turned out that Malfoy's goading was rather accurate, as without a guide it took Harry a good ten minutes to find the great hall. Unfortunately for his mood, the house table was nearly full, and the only open spots were either with the seventh years or all the way at the edge of the bench. Deciding wisely not to chance his luck with the older students, Harry found himself perched somewhat precariously next to Gregory Goyle.

Breakfast passed in near silence. The quiet actually reminded Harry a bit of lunches at his old Primary, the main difference being that here he was actually sharing a table with others. Even if the few attempts at conversation he made were met only by muted grunts, at least Goyle had responded to his "Hello, I'm Harry," with a "'m Goyle," before going back to his breakfast.

After breakfast the students received their schedules from Professor Snape, whose perfunctory introduction placed himself as their head of house. The professor lingered for a moment when he handed Harry a schedule, as if he were going to say something, but after an odd sort of look he quickly proceeded down the line.

On his way out, Harry was stopped by Professor Flitwick. "If you have time after classes this weekend, Mr. Potter, I'd be delighted to hear about your conversation with the sorting hat."

Flitwick was not alone in his curiosity, though it seemed that the tiny professor had not shared their earlier conversation with anyone. It seemed that everywhere he went, someone was bound to approach Harry with questions about his sorting. One particularly persistent such person was Hermione Granger, a first year Harry had met briefly on the train.

"I'm just curious, Harry. What did you talk to the hat about?"

"It's not that big a deal, we just talked." After having been approached several times by various members of the staff and student body, Harry was in no mood to spend time sharing his sorting. He felt lucky that the most information he'd shared was with his dormmates. As far as the rest of the school was concerned, it really _did _take the hat nine minutes to place him.

"If it's not that big a deal, why can't you tell me?"

"Would you feel like sharing every thought you had while under the hat?"

"Actually I wouldn't mind," replied Hermione. "If it took that long, and you're not willing to share it, then the only reasonable conclusion is that you're hiding something."

"I'm not hiding anything," replied Harry, who was quickly becoming annoyed with Hermione's pestering. "We just talked."

Unfortunately, the idea that he was hiding a secret quickly became the general consensus among the student body. To make matters worse, the prevalent stereotype regarding Slytherin students' moral character meant that people assumed whatever secret he was hiding had to be big. Harry went rather rapidly from uninteresting if famous entering first year to possible future dark lord. One theory even had him as responsible for the robbery at Gringotts earlier that year.

Not everyone was put out by this reputation, however; the Weasley twins seemed to find Harry's sudden notoriety a lot of fun.

"Potter, Potter!" Shouted Fred... or possibly George. The redheaded twins were bustling their way through the crowded corridor towards him, distinctive grins upon their faces. Passing students tended to move out of the way rather quickly, wary of mischief, but then hung around to watch the show.

"What do you two want?" Harry asked. The pestering had been getting on his nerves somewhat. He supposed that he could just tell everyone what he and the hat spoke about, but not only would that just invite more questions, it also was unlikely that he'd be believed... especially when the rumors were so much more interesting than the truth.

"Well, Your Dastardliness, if it isn't too much bother... we've come to make a request," stated one twin, sketching a rather elaborate bow.

"Yes, yes!" chimed the other twin, who rapidly began to grovel. "Your wickedness, we've come to beg a favor!"

The bowing twin also got to his knees, hands clasped in imitation of prayer. "We'll do anything," he said. "Sell our souls, become your devoted minions, marry off our firstborn sister..."

"Not that that'd be any hardship," added the other brother, parenthetically.

"Just, please, if you could retrieve something for us..." began George, leaning forward.

"It's guarded by the most fearsome of beasts," said Fred, speaking quieter. "Protected by a multitude of deadly traps..."

"But for one who's broken into Gringotts, Filch's office should be no problem, right?" George had a smirk on his face as he finished whispering. Both twins suddenly straightened up, dusted themselves off, and faced Harry with identical grins.

"So are you up for it, his Darklyness?" smirked George.

"N---" began Harry, only to find himself being shushed by Fred.

"Don't be so hasty. We'll come for your answer after Astronomy." With that parting shot, the two twins dashed off, quickly disappearing from sight.

Harry was feeling particularly isolated of late. His own house was cold and passively antagonistic. Harry got the feeling that he would have had a better reception had he been sorted anywhere else, something the hat had apparently glossed over during their conversation. Ravenclaws seemed to view him as a puzzle in need of solving, and would only approach to pester him about the hat. The Hufflepuffs seemed interested, but generally kept their distance out of fear of Slytherin's reputation.

Although the few he had met on the train were a little more even-handed, Gryffindor on the whole seemed to view him as a betrayer, and were the source of some of the nastier rumors circulating.

At least the twins were still friendly to him, which is more than could be said about their brother; though he had not been among those spreading rumors, Ron had been avoiding him. Harry felt hurt that his first friend (his own age, at least) would abandon him so easily. Maybe this is what the hat meant by knowing his true friends? Or maybe, if he could just speak with Ron, they could start their friendship over?

Pondering this would do him little good now, however. There'd be plenty of time to speak to Ron after class, and if he didn't hurry he'd be late for his first potions lesson. Harry resolved to corner the redheaded boy in the hall sometime, to find out what was up.

Looking back on this day, Harry would quickly realize that a crowded hall might not have been the best place for such a conversation...


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: The following is a work of fanfiction. I make no claims towards ownership of any kind.

Note: I feel that the scenes here are necessary to shape Harry's character from the near-Canon almost-Gryffindor he was at the sorting to a true Slytherin... but I can see how Harry might come off as kinda emo this chapter. If he does, don't fear... I've got plans, and Harry'll grow a backbone soon enough.

Any Means

Chapter 4: Real friends.

Potions class, Harry Potter quickly discovered, was an event that his Slytherin dorm mates approached with a great degree of excitement. He had overheard some small talk around the breakfast table about what their head of house would do for the first lesson; as some of the suggestions had been things like "boil that Weasley boy in a cauldron" or "demonstrate proper techniques for mincing Gryffindors", he was not entirely unprepared for Professor Snape. Unfortunately, neither was he fully prepared for what actually took place in the classroom.

Despite being distracted by the Weasley twins earlier, Harry arrived on time, and was able to find a seat towards the middle of the class. The room was already filled with few Gryffindors and all but one of the members of his own house; Draco Malfoy was conspicuously absent. He recognized Goyle from breakfast, sitting two seats to his left, as well as Hermione Granger, who was seated in the front row, hands folded in front of her neatly laid out quill and parchment. Slowly the room filled with the rest of the class, until finally Professor Snape walked in, followed by Draco Malfoy and Ron Weasley.

Without stopping his progress towards the front desk, Professor Snape started speaking. "Class begins the moment I walk through this door, and I do not tolerate lateness. Two points from Gryffindor, Mr Weasley, for lateness."

"But Malfoy-," Ron began.

"I also do not tolerate backtalk," interjected Snape. "Let's make that four points, Mr. Weasley."

Ron wisely slouched his way to an empty seat. Malfoy, who had been watching the whole thing with gloating eyes, also found a seat.

"As you can see the element I desire most within my classroom is discipline," Snape addressed the class. "I do not expect any of you to understand the subtle art which is potions-making, nor the delicate and exact science which goes into it.

"No, I expect that even among my own house, some of you will be blind to the beauty of a shimmering cauldron, the power of liquids which seep quietly through human skin, bewitching and ensnaring the unwary.

"There is no wand waving here, no flashy spells or quick effects. Potions is hard work, and for that you might think it is hardly magic; it is my goal this year to show you exactly how wrong that dunderheaded notion is.

"This is my magic: I can teach you to bottle fame, to brew glory... even to stopper death. Supposing, of course, that this year's students are not as disappointing as the last."

The class sat enthralled. Harry found his eyes caught by Professor Snape's gaze, as if he had directed the speech entirely at him. Beside him, Blaise Zabini was eagerly leaning forwards, his eyes shining with anticipation... even Ron Weasley had stopped his quiet sulking.

The silence lingered for a few dramatic seconds before Snape began to call out role, which proceeded exactly as Harry had come to expect from his primary schooling. The only oddity was that, when Professor Snape finally reached "Potter, Harry," he seemed to pause and linger a few seconds before continuing... but perhaps Harry was just imagining things.

The class soon began in earnest, as the students were paired off for potion's work. Harry's partner, who had introduced himself as "Blaise Zabini, as you should well know by now," was silent and efficient during their brewing. Thankfully he wasn't really antagonistic like Malfoy's clique, however, and they soon settled into an easy pace; alternating between preparing ingredients and reading the recipe.

As the class prepared their potions, Professor Snape stalked his way between the desks. Each round of the classroom was punctuated with a loudly spoken criticism for Harry's work in particular. "Stir it slower, Potter!", he would command. "You're making a potion, not a soup." He hadn't taken points yet, but Harry's seemed to be the only potion that Snape was paying attention to.

Malfoy and his clique seemed to smirk a little more with each correction. It was infuriating, and the negative attention was quickly wearing rather thin. Harry found himself quietly thankful for his partner's proficiency; Zabini's steady movements kept him focused on the task itself, rather than the steady stream of criticisms.

By the time class finished Harry was more than angry enough to do something stupid, but held back for fear of the consequences. Professor McGonagall had explained before the sorting that a student's Head of House was the person directly responsible for them... and thus the person Harry would have to rely upon if he were ever in trouble. Alienating that person was a bad idea, especially if his classmates continued to "misplace" their poisonous pets around him.

Finally it was over. Professor Snape called for potion samples to be passed up front. The Gryffindors, who had been led to expect a little more abuse, had remained well behaved throughout- though he'd removed points when Neville Longbottom's potion spoiled early in the lesson and had to be restarted. As the students shuffled their way out of the classroom and into the halls, Harry made a beeline towards Ron, intent on finally having their conversation.

"Ron, wait up!" Harry said. Ron had managed to get halfway down the hall before turning to face Harry. The look on his face showed that this was a moment he'd been hoping to avoid.

"What is it?", asked Ron, suddenly interested in the potions text he was still carrying. Harry noticed the way that his friend seemed unable to meet his eyes, and took it as a bad sign.

"Why've you been avoiding me?", Harry asked.

"I haven't been avoiding you," said Ron. "I've just been... thinking."

"Thinking about what?"

"Well... I thought we... ", Ron took a breath and started over. Suddenly he seemed less apprehensive, more accusative. "Why didn't you tell me you were going to Slytherin?"

Harry was completely boggled. That didn't even make sense! "How was I supposed to know where the sorting hat would place me?", he said. "For that matter, what difference does it make?"

"It makes a huge difference!" Ron cried. "I'm a Gryffindor and you're a Slytherin; that means we can't be friends."

"Who says?", asked Harry, his voice suddenly resigned. This was like being in school with Dudley all over again: he'd make friends at the start of the year, only for them to be told to stay away. It hurt.

"Well," said Ron, looking contrite. "No one, really. It just doesn't happen."

Ron seemed aware that this wasn't the most solid of reasons, and Harry called him on it. "If no one told you to," he asked, "then why are you acting like it's true?"

"I just... Harry, you have to understand. You-know-who was a Slytherin. All the Dark Lords were... and now you are too. Can't you see why I might be a little hesitant?"

"All I can see is that you're avoiding me because of some stupid school thing. Are you saying you're not my friend anymore?"

"N-no. Not that." Ron seemed to firm up his resolve. "You're right. This is stupid. We're still friends, right?" He stuck out his hand and grinned.

Harry flashed a matching grin as the two shook hands. "Yeah, friends." he replied. This was great! It seemed that things at Hogwarts weren't so bad after all. There was no Dudley here to turn people away, and yeah, it might be a rocky start, but things could be just like on the train. They were friends again, and it didn't matter that they were in different houses.

"After all," Ron interrupted his train of thought. "You'll need someone to watch out for you. Those snakes are a bad influence!"

He was still smiling, obviously just joking around... but Harry's smile suddenly felt frozen. He forced himself not to react at all, just to respond as Ron was expecting: "Yeah, you're right. Good thing I've got you here, huh?" Inside he felt like he was suddenly empty. "Listen, I, uh... I've got to go. We've got different classes this period and I don't want to be late. See you around?"

Walking mechanically away from Ron, Harry's eyes burned with unshed tears. He wasn't blind, he wasn't deaf. Being Slytherin was the same as growing up on Privet drive- people would always be watching, waiting for him to misbehave. Ron and Harry would be friends, yes, but they'd never share that easy camaraderie they'd had on the train... and they'd never truly trust each other. It was a horrible feeling to have about your first friend.

Thankfully by dinner time Harry had calmed down, and began to consider that perhaps he had overreacted a little. It wasn't like anything was lost, really. He still had Ron as his friend... that was something, at least. So what if it wasn't a perfect friendship? It was better than being the school outcast.

After dinner, Harry wandered off to the school library, looking for a place to collect his thoughts. He settled in at what he thought was an empty table piled high with books, only to find that behind one particularly large stack sat Hermione Granger. Seeing her he almost got up to leave, but stopped when she suddenly spoke.

"One of your Slytherin friends sent you to make fun of me, didn't they?"

"What?", he asked.

"It's okay... you can go back and tell them it doesn't bother me. To paraphrase a famous writer, insults are always the last refuge of the incompetent."

"I'm not here to insult you, Hermione. I'm just looking for a place to think."

"Well," she frowned. "I guess I was a little hasty immediately lumping you in with Malfoy's lot, especially after the train. It's just been a rather trying day."

"Yeah, it has." Harry said.

They both fell into silence at that point, as Harry picked a book from nearby to read. Hermione didn't ask him about the sorting hat, about his fame, or any of the other questions she usually seemed to have. The silence was oddly companionable, and left Harry feeling very calm.

Without noticing it, the time passed by rather quickly, and soon Harry and Hermione shared their goodbyes as they went their separate ways. Harry headed back to the dungeons to get ready for Astronomy, the twin's request suddenly looming large on his mind. He'd tell them no, of course, but then what would that do to his friendship with Ron? Would family loyalty drive Ron to anger? Worse still, what would Ron do if he said yes? Stealing was rather frowned upon, even if you were stealing the object at the original owner's request... would it drive a further wedge into their already tentative friendship?

Arriving in the dungeons, Harry was greeted with the sight of Malfoy and Derrick, the prefect from earlier. They had obviously been waiting for him, as the two both stood from their seats by the fireplace the moment he came in. They approached him fast enough that Harry held no hope of sneaking past.

"You're finally back, Potter?", said Malfoy. "I thought maybe you'd actually gotten the message."

"Message?", Harry inquired, not expecting the rather unfriendly greeting.

"Potter, before we go any further..." said Derrick. "Malfoy here told me you were making nice with a Gryffindor after potions today. Is this true?"

"Yeah, I guess so." said Harry. "I mean, it's not a big deal, we met on the train and-"

"I'm not interested." interrupted the prefect. "I don't think you quite understand your position here. Please, allow me to explain."

Harry snuck a quick glance at Malfoy, noticing the way that his eyes were shining triumphantly. He took that as a particularly bad sign.

"You, Potter, are personally responsible for the death of the Dark Lord." explained Derrick. "Worse than that, the end of the war dented fortunes and damaged pride. To the members of this house who supported the dark lord, you are indirectly the cause those hardships."

The prefect had assumed a serious position, back straight and eyes directly upon Harry. Harry found himself shrinking under the weight of that gaze.

"To be blunt," explained Derrick, "No one wants you here; even the neutral families view you as a polarizing influence, and thus avoid you."

"For now your presence within the house is tolerated only because we're willing to treat you like a Slytherin," drawled Derrick. "Yet your sorting did take so very long, and you've been spending quite a lot of time associating with the wrong sort..."

"So shape up," said Malfoy. "We're the ones with the power here, Potter. That means you have to play by our rules. Your blood-traitor friend will have to go."

The prefect nodded and walked off, presumably headed for his own dorm room, as Harry vividly recalled the incident with the snake this morning.

"Bet you wish you'd listened to me before, don't you? We could have been friends." There was nothing friendly about the triumphant sneer on Malfoy's face.

Malfoy seemed satisfied with that parting shot, and soon Harry found himself alone in the common room. Suddenly he found himself filled with a deep hatred, not for Malfoy, no, but for that damned sorting hat. It'd put him here! It'd said that here he'd learn who his real friends are. Instead, all he was learning was that he didn't have real friends, that he couldn't trust anyone... which was a lesson he'd learned long ago.

Still seething, he made his way to the first year dorm and gathered his supplies for Astronomy. So far, Hogwarts had been better than Privet drive... but not by much.


End file.
